People Are Here (?)

Even emails selling a product can give insight. Today was one such day. The email attracted my attention, usually this one doesn't, but I hardly ever unsubscribe from many that I don't read. Maybe today is one of those reasons.

Someone had written into the writer of this email, saying she's sixty seven and spent the day rearranging her spice rack. "When am I going to write? I'm not getting younger." The author wrote that procrastination isn't laziness, it's actually protection of the body. The body associates fear with sitting at your writing space.

I'm intrigued. What? I'm not lazy? And I started thinking of all the "fears," misgivings I have about writing publicly. Now, remember, I journal every day. I comment way too much on Facebook posts. I have to face what holds me back and so as he wrote, I thought of my foibles. The big one is am I boring? Is anyone reading me in this cluttered age?

Others for the novels, editing- can I take the criticism if I get a different editor? English teachers in the past have asked if I had an editor. I can still hear one's tone, "Oh, dear..." I fear an editor will want to change my style, my story or worse will think me a bad person. "Who said you could write?" "You live in make believe world." Well, as a writer, I guess I do. Turn that criticism on its ear.

Formatting. Oh, that would stop me often. A fellow writer a few years ago told me about Word to Kindle and for a small fee, I have used them. I am very happy. I noticed last time, they have editing services. I may use them when I'm ready again. That anonymous editor, I could never see their face. I guess there is that fear of people seeing my thoughts or worse my ignorance and judge me, if they know me in person.

I also fear I'm too late with whatever I'm publishing, because I'm not writing and haven't finished it. What's another day and now I'm down to two weeks of summer break! Yikes!

I don't have a cover designer, now. Mine was too busy last year and had to tell me her real job demanded too much time. I'm not worried, but then, I haven't addressed it because I don't have a finished novel, yet. I have the picture in mind that I want to use, but I have to obtain it. One more thing I was going to do this summer, but haven't. Hey, a lot can happen in two weeks.

I'd say the biggest fear is - Am I wasting my time, when I could be organizing my spice rack? I could be organizing the old family photos- at least, I enjoy that and it is a source for stories. Look at Country. If I didn't have all those wonderful sepia images of Grandma and Aunt Jim, Mabel and D.K.T. with tidbits written on the back from Grandma, I wouldn't had Country. Or City. David Torrence in France March 1918, the dough boy picture I used.

My deep, deep desire is to write these epic novels. I'm not James Michener and maybe that holds me back, too. Even James Michener knew in his nineties that his method of writing lost popularity, marketable substance. Writers have to continually watch the trends. At the pinnacle of his success, he could still write the way he wrote. Having a staff helped, too. Research is yet another fear of mine when I sit down to write novels.

Tomorrow, the writer of the email, promises to reveal secrets of how to get over procrastination. I think I know most of them, but I will read with an open mind.

Yesterday, in the middle of the day, I left to help with sports physicals at the school. The time didn't doddle. I enjoyed watching the little girls, there for cheer, do cartwheels, handstands and jump rope. All things I could never do. Even on my walk the night before, I wanted to play run, but only kept steady with my pace. The distance around our park is 2.5 miles, plus I walk to and from it. I was sore.

After the physicals, my husband and I went out for dinner at a restaurant in Jamestown, Pennsylvania, the gateway to Pymatuning. My yearly ritual is to go to Pymatuning on my dad's birthday. He would have been one hundred four. Pymatuning was in his blood and I feel it driving through mine, as well. We drove ten miles after dinner to northern part of the reservoir, which is actually a second dam with a spillway of national attraction. The ducks walk on fish. This evening we saw many seagulls, Canadian geese and non water fowl, starlings and red wing black birds, all hanging on the spillway waiting for the stray breadcrumb. I don't remember seeing the non waterfowl standing without the gip of webbed feet where the water flows over the bowl, before.

We stopped at Tuttle Beach, but it wasn't from my childhood. I think they upgraded it in the 1970's. We drove back to Jamestown and the beach outside of town, there, not far from the breast of the dam. There the chairs came out. Peace filled my soul as I watched the sunset, the boats on the water and one lone, last person floating a raft in the water. I planned to write in my notebook. I also got that book on Chunky writing delivered in the afternoon. They stayed in my bag. I took a few pictures, but mostly I breathed for my soul. Planning next year to reserve a week in a cabin, so I can see the Persius showers over Dad's birthday. Next year. And writing will happen. Planning on it. Write anyway, no matter the fears.